


A Minor Inconvenience

by GenitalGrievous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Emotional Abuse, F/F, Gaslighting, Grooming, Insecurity, Kissing on the Roof, M/M, Peter Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 06:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19941463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenitalGrievous/pseuds/GenitalGrievous
Summary: Peter had been looking forward to this class trip for months, but ever since the moment they left New York the entire trip had been fraught with inconveniences, the greatest of which was easily running into the outlandishly ravishing Mr. Quentin Beck. But all Peter has really wanted has been someone to make him feel safe after everything that’s happened in the last five years.





	A Minor Inconvenience

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve taken a few artistic liberties with how a couple of scenes played out in the movie, partly from struggling to remember the exact order of events and dialogue, and partly just to serve my own artistic intentions. Some of the warnings won’t come into effect until the next couple of chapters, but I don’t want anyone caught off-guard by the content.

“Well that’s inconvenient.” Seemed to have become Peter Parker’s mantra of the day, first when his whole summer plan spun off to a dramatically bad start, second when the gigantic water elemental had begun wreaking havoc in the middle of their class field trip in Venice, and a third time when he came face to face with the absolute force of nature that was Mysterio. Now that, that was really inconvenient. Talking to his classmates, talking to Aunt May that night, the entire time Peter waited for someone to ask why he sounded so shaken, why he seemed to have a special fascination with the masked man that had rescued their class, but then again, everyone had a special fascination with him, and of course he seemed a little shaken, who wouldn’t?  
It wasn’t until he was nervously walking into Nick Fury’s secret underground base that he realized his trip was about to take an especially inconvenient turn, because the first person he noticed in the room was not Nick Fury, or any of his particularly tough looking associates, it was Mysterio leaned over the table, looking rugged and clean, almost like he hadn’t just been in a fight for their lives less than twenty-four hours ago, no mask, just—that face. A total snack, an absolute hunk. “This is Mr. Beck.” Nick Fury introduced them, either oblivious to it, or ignoring Peter staring at him, mouth open, like a star struck teenager.  
But when Mysterio, no it’s Mr. Beck now, looked him in the eyes and intoned, “never apologize for being the smartest one in the room,”? Now that, _that was catastrophically inconvenient_.  
Peter figured he was going to be able to handle Mr. Beck’s rugged attractiveness, but if he was going to go out of his way to compliment Peter, to, as an adult, make Peter comfortable when he started gushing about his interests? Now that was wildly inconvenient. In fact, everything about him and the way he talked was inconvenient, from his consistent eye contact and genuine interest in everything Peter had to say, to his frankly awesome costume that did very little to hide his lithely muscular frame. Going on this trip, Peter had devised a very well researched and intricate plan, and while the execution of his plan had been off to a rough start, nothing in particular had thrown such a massive wrench into is as running into a man who was _exactly his type_ , a realization that he wasn’t actually prepared to make at the moment, or maybe ever. Peter’s vacation plan definitely hadn’t taken into account that there was even a microscopic possibility that he had a _type_ when it came to _men_. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the wedding ring that Mr. Beck wore, even as the older man fiddled with it, turning it around his fingers while describing what had been the fate of his family, of his Earth.  
In fact, Peter was actually relieved when Nick Fury lost his cool and berated him about his reluctance to join the mission, it gave him a reason to reiterate his comparatively young age to the room of adults, and try to remind himself that it was MJ who he liked. And he did, he definitely liked MJ a lot. She was cute, she was funny, she shared a lot of interests with him. He liked her, even thinking about her made him feel like his whole chest was full of butterflies. But thinking about Mr. Beck made him feel something entirely different, like his whole body was stretched taut and overloaded with crackling electricity. Interacting with MJ in private made his palms sweat, but interacting with Mr. Beck made his knees go limp and his head fill with thoughts about the taste of sweat, and saliva, made him wonder if his hands were soft or rough like someone who had fought wars, and what those hands would feel like tracing the curves of his body. Let’s face it: sure, he wanted to kiss MJ, but he wanted to get fucked by Mr. Beck. Peter needed to get away from all of these people, he needed to focus on the field trip. Focus on school. Focus on MJ. Focus on literally anything besides Mr. Beck. “See ya, kid,” Mr. Beck had offered nonchalantly as he left. “Yeah,” Peter had mumbled, avoiding eye contact, “See ya.” Secretly hoping that maybe that wouldn’t be the case. He could probably go his whole life without ever seeing him again, to be quite honest.  
Back at their hotel room Ned was still noisily asleep on the couch. Sliding under the covers, Peter glanced at his phone where he had left it charging before his meeting with Fury and company. 3:45am, they’d be expected to be downstairs at 6am ready to go on to Paris, which meant Peter probably wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. He closed his eyes and tried to still his beating heart, but it wasn’t that easy. Every time his mind started to relax away from actively concentrating on trying to sleep, Quentin Beck’s beautiful stupid fucking face floated into his mind’s eye. “Call me Quentin,” he had told Peter so calmly, but somehow even trying to call him Quentin in his own thoughts sent Peter into a cold sweat, like just saying the man’s first name out loud would be tantamount to admitting that he was completely and irrevocably smitten with him.  
“Ned,” Peter whispered, but was greeted with one long slow snore, followed by a few brief sputters before his friend resumed his usual snoring pattern.  
“Quentin,” Peter tested the name out loud, and could almost listen to the sound of his own voice being swallowed by the sounds of Ned’s storing, and the nighttime noises of Venice in recovery from the day’s attack. He could feel his dick give a little leap at the acknowledgement that he could say the name out loud, though he could feel his face heating up with what must be an embarrassingly visible blush. “ _Quentinnnnnn_.” He tried again, a long slow hiss. Tentatively, Peter touched the elastic band of his underwear, considering whether or not he could masturbate quietly enough to not wake his roommate. But the fear of being interrupted, by Ned, or his classmates, or teacher, or literally anyone was enough to deter him from actually trying. Instead he just laid in bed, occasionally saying the name out loud, feeling the way it felt in his mouth, the way his lips formed around the sounds, analyzing how the tip of his tongue touched the back of his front teeth on the n sound, wondering what it would feel like to say the name out loud to the man in question.  
By the time the sun was rising, filling their room with warm orange and red hues, Ned’s snoring had slowed to a soft quiet wheeze, and Peter had given up on trying to practice saying Quentin’s name out loud, and was now just trying to picture his manly visage without blushing.  
“Oh,” Ned said softly, rolling off of the couch in an over-the-top stretch and yawning loudly. “I don’t even remember going to sleep, man I must have been tired!”  
“Nick Fury shot you with a tranq dart.” Peter said in a soft monotone, still staring at the worn grey ceiling and avoiding making eye contact with Ned. He wasn’t sure if he could handle looking another human in the eyes yet, he felt like somehow Ned might see right through him, and psychically know or otherwise guess what he had been thinking about all night.  
“Oh, yeah, that explains that—“ Ned’s sentence abruptly ended and he stood at stared at the wall. “I’m sorry what!?”  
“Nick Fury was here last night, you walked in, he shot you.” Peter repeated.  
“Dude what!” Ned exclaimed, a little too loudly in his overexcitement.  
“He wants me to go to Prague, but man, I’m not going.” Peter said, finally rolling onto his side to face Ned. “It’s just—They’ve got that, uh, Mysterio guy,” Peter tried to play off his feelings by concentrating on calling Mr. Beck Mysterio, he wasn’t sure if he could possibly say his name out loud to another person without betraying his innermost fears. “And I think he can handle things better than I could.”  
“And they just let you leave?” Ned asked.  
“Well, they can’t exactly stop me. What are they gonna do, kidnap me?” Peter rolled his eyes.  
They were interrupted by a heavy rat-tat-tat on their hotel room door. “Everybody up and at ‘em!” Mr. Harrington called from the other side of the door, “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes!”  
“We’re leaving early?” Ned called back without opening the door.  
“Yep, I’ve got a big surprise for you kids!” Ned and Peter made shocked eye contact at Mr. Harrington’s announcement.  
“Don’t tell me—“ Peter said, his heart beating wildly.  
“We’re going to Prague!” Mr. Harrington interrupted, as though he couldn’t hold back the excitement.  
“Now that is inconvenient.” Peter groaned. 

Standing once again in a secret base, surrounded by Nick Fury’s strongmen and Mr. Beck, Peter tried to concentrate on the discussion at hand, but found it nearly impossible. He wanted to be angry that Nick Fury had effectively hijacked his school trip, but it was hard to concentrate on anything with Mr. Beck walking around posturing in his fancy suit, with his unnervingly beautiful face. _Maybe just don’t look him in the eye_ , Peter thought, fidgeting with his pants.  
“Are we boring you, Mister Parker?” Fury asks, his tone matching his name. Peter shirked away from the attention, trying to avoid looking as frightened as he felt.  
“He’s just thinking about how you kidnapped him.” Mr. Beck offered, smirking a little at Peter. _Oh god is he psychic too!?_ Peter thought frantically, if he knew that Peter was thinking about that, did he know about all of the other things Peter was thinking about too?  
Peter faded in and out of concentrating, it was almost impossible to focus on the issue at hand, despite the gravity of the situation he had found himself in.  
“Mr. Beck,” Fury began.  
“Call me Mysterio!” Mr. Beck replied, flashing a bemused face at Peter. _Was there something there?_ Peter wondered.  
In the end Peter fled the charged atmosphere of the room, finding one excuse or another to leave and head up to the roof. He couldn’t hide the fact that he didn’t want to be there, but he could at least try to disguise the real reason why he needed to escape. And outside the cool night air calmed him a bit, all over the city he could here the sounds of people preparing for tomorrow’s carnival, and if he really tried to not think about it he probably could have almost gotten lost in the jovial attitude that everyone in the streets below seemed to be exhibiting. He studied the people as they moved around, wondering how many of them would still be alive at this time tomorrow.  
“Hey,” a voice said behind him, startling Peter from his reverie.  
He turned around guiltily and made eye contact with Mr. Beck. _Well that’s inconvenient_. “Um, hi.”  
“Nick Fury told me to come up here, he felt bad about snapping at you.” Mr. Beck says, and Peter can feel his heart slowly falling to his feet.  
“Really,” is all he can manage to say, he’s made an incompetent ass out of himself in front of Nick fucking Fury, and now Mr. Beck is having to check on him, like an older brother checking on a toddler mid-tantrum. It was hard to not ignore the feelings welling up in Peter, he really was just a kid, who were the rest of these guys fooling, trying to make him an Avenger? Who was Tony fooling, giving him EDITH? He’s just a kid, he’s not ready for this, and now he can feel all of his thoughts and his emotions flashing across his face, it must be child’s play for Mr. Beck to read how he feels.  
“You—you guys do have sarcasm on this Earth, right?” Mr. Beck sits next to him, and Peter can feel his heart coming back to life, beating frantically, like it was trying to rise through his throat.  
“Uh, oh, uh” Peter rubs his palms on his suit, and the high-tech fabric absorbs his sweat before it can leave a stain. He can feel the heat from Mr. Beck’s body where their legs touch, to him it felt like he was resting his leg against an oven, like the older man’s body heat would be able to swallow him alive. “It’s,” Peter begins nervously, “It’s just a lot, you know?”  
“Oh, I know.” Mr. Beck replied quickly, and Peter can feel his face grow hot with embarrassment. “Look, Peter, nobody’s born ready. It’s not about who you are when you’re given these powers, it’s about who you become when you can handle that responsibility.” Peter knows that Mr. Beck is trying to make him feel better, but it’s hard to not feel like he’s using his adult-sounding eloquence to drive the point home that Peter is nothing but a kid.  
“Everybody keeps asking me if I’m going to be the new Iron Man, it feels like I have the whole world on my shoulders, and I still have to finish school.” Peter couldn’t avoid the whine that his voice took on, but he had never been able to voice his concerns out loud to anyone, nobody in his life had ever balanced the dual responsibilities of high school and super powers. All of the super heroes he had ever met were adults, and all of the kids in his high school had never had to worry about more than the average American teenager. Something about Mr. Beck and the way he watched Peter, nodding in acknowledgement to his concerns, taking in his every word, made Peter feel accepted and safe.  
“Hey,” Mr. Beck rested one hand on Peter’s knee, making his whole body heat up, “Don’t lose sight of how you feel Peter, people always need someone to look up to and to pin their hopes on, but you have to be that person for yourself before anyone else.”  
“Mr. Beck,” Peter began, his heart rate quickening as he turned to look into the older man’s blue-grey eyes.  
“Call me Quentin,” he interrupted, and Peter was a little embarrassed to remember that it wasn’t the first time he had made that request, and something about that infinitesimally small concession made Peter lose all of his carefully mustered self control. Gently resting his shaking hand on top of Quentin’s, Peter leaned in closely, trying to keep his eyes open, but stopped short. Quentin’s silver banded wedding ring caught a reflection from one of the buildings nearby, dazzling Peter from the corner of his eye, and a part of him seemed to start screaming internally, that Quentin would think Peter is just a silly kid, that he was about to make a catastrophic mistake, under the weight of all his fears Peter froze like a deer in the headlights. After what felt like an eternity, but was in all likelihood only a matter of nanoseconds, Quentin closed the distance between them, capturing Peter’s mouth in a brief kiss that sent his heart racing off the charts.  
“Well, _that’s_ inconvenient.” Peter whispered, his breath forming small clouds of condensation that hung briefly in the cool night air.  
Turning his hand around in Peter’s grasp so that their palms were clasped together on top of Peter’s knee, Quentin threaded his fingers through the younger man’s digits. “How so?” He whispered back, matching Peter’s tone, his breath washing over Peter’s face in the chill rooftop air.  
This time Peter brought their lips together, opening his when Quentin’s tongue prodded inquisitively against them, welcoming the feeling of their kiss deepening. “I just,” Peter whispered as he broke the kiss for air, pausing to plant a chaste kiss on the corner of Quentin’s mouth, delighting in the way his beard tickled Peter’s softer skin, “Wasn’t really planning on this.”  
Smiling against Peter’s lips, Quentin returned the peck at the corner of Peter’s mouth, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, you can’t plan for everything.” Quentin slid his free hand up the back of Peter’s neck, his fingers sliding into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and used the leverage he had gained to pull Peter into a deeper kiss. For a few moments they kissed in relative silence, Peter’s free hand exploring Quentin’s body over his suit, feeling the hard muscles of his abs, his pectorals, palming over his shoulder so that he could pull the older man somehow closer, pressing their bodies together tighter as the kiss grew longer.  
“Quentin—“ Peter tried the unfamiliar name out loud, his voice barely above a whisper, though he don’t think he could have spoken any louder if he had tried.  
“Peter,” Quentin replied, and the sound of his own name, spoken huskily, nearly sent Peter over the edge.  
It felt incredible to be _seen_ by a fellow Superhero, to be recognized. Peter had never felt comfortable enough to talk about his own problems and concerns with the other Avengers, and he was always too frightened of being seen as a disappointment by Tony Stark to ever open up to him on a deeper level. Quentin understood him, he accepted him despite all his flaws. “Peter,” Quentin hissed again, and this time Peter had a flash of fear that the older man was going to tell him something earth-shatteringly inconvenient like _we shouldn’t be doing this_ , which on a deeper level Peter understood was probably completely accurate, but with Quentin’s hand roaming down his back, tracking the curves of his body, Peter couldn’t really bring himself to care about _shoulds_ and _shouldn’ts_. “This probably isn’t the safest place to do this.”  
Peter’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like he was going to choke on it. “Won’t Fury know if we bail?”  
“I’ll take care of that,” Quentin replied quickly, his voice low and breathy, but still filled with the confidence of a superior taking charge. “I can fill you in later,” he added, winking slyly.  
“I have a hotel room,” Peter offered, trying to figure out some sort of excuse to have the room to himself, a part of him realizing that Quentin was probably well aware of where he was staying and the risks associated with it.  
“Let’s do mine,” Quentin replied, “I wouldn’t want us,” his hand tightened its grip on Peter’s, sending a jolt of electricity down Peter’s spine, “—to get interrupted.”  
“Yeah, yeah.” Peter nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yeah that makes sense.”  
“Allow me,” Quentin grinned, sliding his hand out from under Peter’s to grab him at the crook of his legs, quickly lifting him into a bridal carry before raising off the roof.  
“Oh!” Peter gasped, trying not to reflexively kick his legs. It was probably the only opportunity he’d have in his life to be the one carried romantically by a superhero, and not vice versa. He should probably savor it, he figured, trying to relax his body into the strong arms that cradled him.  
“Hang on,” Quentin smirked playfully, quickly kissing Peter on the lips.  
As it would turn out, Quentin was actually staying at the same hotel that Nick Fury had negotiated to have Peter and his classmates put up in, though several stories above the floor where Peter was staying, in a penthouse suite. A brief thought flashed across Peter’s mind, wondering how a refugee from another plane of existence had enough of their earth money to afford a penthouse suite in a five star hotel in downtown Prague, but he quashed the thought quickly. Maybe they had the same money, maybe teaming up with Fury pays big, maybe a five-star hotel in Prague was dramatically cheaper, but as Quentin carried him through the tenth story window Peter found it hard to think about anything except the strong muscular arms that were holding him in the air, even as he felt Quentin shifted his weight as they descended onto the carpeted floor of his hotel room.  
“Woah,” Peter whispered breathily has Quentin lowered him to the excessively plush king size bed in the center of the room. It was significantly softer than the bed in his room, he could feel his whole body sink into the plushness of the thick down duvet as Quentin climbed on top of him, pinning his body down into the feathery soft bed. He had pictured things like this before, these kinds of situations, sometimes late at night in his own room back home in Queens while he masturbated. But tonight, right here with Quentin the roles were reversed from how he had ever imagined it, and while a part of him seemed to feel instantly uncomfortable with the reversal, for another part of him it just felt right to give up control. Like this situation was what he had been waiting for, the opportunity to just relinquish control to a stronger person and to just _not worry about it_.  
Bracing one elbow behind Peter’s head, Quentin leaned down and captured his mouth in an aggressive kiss, using the sheer force of the movement and the weight of his body to render Peter helpless to the onslaught. Using his hand that wasn’t holding the bulk of his weight off of Peter’s slighter frame, Quentin lifted Peter’s shirt, and the feeling of Quentin’s hand, still cold from the nighttime air that was rushing in through the open window, roaming Peter’s bare skin was galvanizing. Inhaling sharply, Peter finally found the strength to grab Quentin, pulling him down, tentatively running his hands along the back of Quentin’s neck and through his thick chestnut hair. He couldn’t be certain if it was Quentin’s instantly domineering attitude, or if something that had been waiting within him for a long time had caused him to become suddenly fully submissive.  
“Peter,” Quentin whispered, kissing along his cheek to take the lobe of one ear into his mouth and gently massage it with his tongue. Peter groaned, arching his back into the plush bedding, his mind completely overstimulated. “You’re going to suck my cock,” He asserted confidently, his words sending waves of electricity through Peter’s spine and straight to his prick.  
“Yes, yeah,” Peter hissed back, bucking his hips into Quentins so that he could feel their stiff cocks pressed together, neither willing to yield. Every sensation, whether he had ever replicated it in his imagination or not, felt strikingly new to him. Who knew what tomorrow would bring, what havoc the elemental that would rise up to fight would wreak, but tonight Peter felt like he could put it behind him for at least a few hours and just enjoy himself.  
Reaching between them, Quentin loosened something in his uniform, pulling his long hard cock out before palming his hand over Peter’s. “There’s, there’s uh,” Peter reached down, loosening his suit so that he could pull his own out. “There.” He said, the relatively cool air of the hotel room almost stinging on his bare skin. Quentin’s gloves felt rough as he stroked up and down Peter’s cock, the fabric continuously wicking his precum away, making the handjob more than a little uncomfortable.  
Leaning back, Quentin slid off of Peter, pulling him up by one arm so that he rose up on his knees, the look in his eyes was almost predatory, like a chess player watching all of his moves come together at checkmate. He kissed Peter one last time on the lips possessively before pushing him down and guiding him to his waiting cock. “Aaaahhhh” Quentin exhaled, releasing Peter’s head as the younger man began to work up and down over the cock, straining to take it as deeply as he could, despite his inexperience. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he was expected to do, or what would feel good. “Oh yeah,” Quentin groaned, throwing his head back and guiding Peter’s head onto his cock harder, grabbing two fistfuls of his wavy hair as Peter gagged against the oral intrusion, struggling to keep his teeth away from the sensitive skin. “I knew you’d be a good little cocksucker from the moment I saw you.”  
Focusing on the way Quentin’s cockhead seemed hellbent on forcing its way down Peter’s throat, Peter mused that contrary to how he had always imagined it, fellatio could actually be a pretty ugly activity. Though the perceived sloppiness of the dalliance with Quentin didn’t detract from his complete and total arousal. Reaching down, Peter began to jerk his own cock in rhythm with Quentin’s powerful strokes against the back of his throat, saliva steaming down his chin. He felt a glimmer of embarrassment about how much of a mess he must seem, but the moans that were breaking out of Quentin’s mouth, interspersed with comments like “yes, god” and “fuck” and “Peter, oh shit,” made him feel somehow powerful, impervious to how absolutely revolting he must look.  
“Oh damn, Peter, I’m,” Quentin’s grip tightened at the nape of his neck, his nails digging into the delicate skin there, “Fuck, Peter, I’m gonna cum.”  
Hearing those words fly out of Quentin’s mouth, a man who up until this night had seemed to be the epitome of composure, sent Peter finally over the edge himself. His own hand’s pace shifted into erratic strokes as Quentin’s cock assaulted the back of his throat harder and harder, until almost simultaneously the older man’s prick pressed into the back of his throat, his load hot and thick as it filled Peter’s mouth, even as his own load splattered against the white bedding. “Oh,” Peter started to talk, but Quentin’s hand covered his mouth before he could speak.  
“Shhhh,” Quentin hissed, his eyes wide and wild looking in the low light, “Swallow—swallow it.”  
Heart thundering loud enough that Peter felt sure people in the room next door must be able to hear it, Peter swallowed, Quentin’s gloved hand hot against his mouth. “Oh my god Peter,” Quentin pulled him up into a kiss, their lips wet and slick against each other’s as their tongues prodded around, mixing the flavor of Quentin’s come into both of their mouths until it was hard to place whose mouth tasted of who.  
Pulling him down onto the bed, Quentin wrapped his arms around Peter, bringing him close against his body. It was strange to think, but their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, and for all of the craziness of his time so far in Prague, for the first time Peter felt like he could be calm for just a little bit. “You’re so good,” Quentin whispered through a long exhalation into Peter’s ruffled hair.  
His head resting just on top of Quentin’s heart, Peter could hear the other man’s rapid heartbeat through his suit, even as it petered out into a softer more gentle repetition. Tomorrow they would come face to face to the elemental that had destroyed Quentin’s home world, that had killed his family. A small part of Peter wanted to ask Quentin, wanted to pry, wanted know more. But another part of him wanted to accept the love he had just received from the off world hero, Peter was worried that if he knew more about Quentin’s family he would somehow feel less than adequate. He could feel the negative emotions of inadequacy already threatening to overtake him, when Quentin’s gloved hand gently palmed down his shoulders, and it was like he positively radiated positive energy.  
“Peter,” Quentin said, his voice thick with drowsiness and his eyes half-lidded, “Whatever happens tomorrow, I’m going to save your world.” And his words made Peter realize that all he had ever really wanted was to know that there was a greater hero out there to protect him through thick and through thin.


End file.
